


hot like a fever, make you a believer

by hargrovebuckley



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Episode: s02e02 Trick or Treat Freak, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Stranger Things 2, Underage Drinking, a tiny divergence, halloween party, uhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hargrovebuckley/pseuds/hargrovebuckley
Summary: Closing his eyes, as he tips his head towards the night sky, Steve wills the tears gathering to not fall.Steve wonders if Nancy ever even liked him at all.His fists clench at his sides and he decides — fuck it. If Nancy can pretend to be in love with him, for as long as she did, however long that was, Steve can pretend, too.-or;Fresh from the breakup with Nancy, Steve doesn't go home. Instead, he decides to drink his pain away, find a distraction from dwelling on it, and to get back his crown.Here's to hoping a certain blue-eyed boy is willing to lend a hand. And that he's not too keen on backing down from a challenge.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 13
Kudos: 211





	hot like a fever, make you a believer

**Author's Note:**

> i have so many other wips....... yet i decided to start writing this at 2am for four hours even tho i have to go to work rip
> 
> blah blah blah i don't own stranger things blah blah blah i read this over at 6am after not sleeping, please excuse any mistakes that i missed
> 
> title from 'comme des garçons' by rina sawayama

Steve makes it out of the house, Nancy’s words echoing in his head as a repetition of _bullshit bullshit bullshit_ , and comes to a stop on the front lawn.

He didn’t think they were _bullshit_ , or that they acted _like they were in love_ for almost an entire fucking year. Did Nancy really not love him at all? Or did she love him at some point, only to fall out of it? Was she just— _entertaining_ him, keeping him happy, all while she was miserable for the better part of eleven months?

Closing his eyes, as he tips his head towards the night sky, Steve wills the tears gathering to not fall.

Steve wonders if Nancy ever even liked him at all.

His fists clench at his sides and he decides — fuck it. If Nancy can pretend to be in love with him, for as long as she did, however long that was, Steve can pretend, too.

Turns on his heel and leaves the bitter October cold behind, goes back inside to the blistering heat of too many alcohol-warmed bodies packed together. Stalks into the kitchen and pours himself four consecutive shots of tequila in a row.

The alcohol doesn’t take long to take effect, to get his blood singing. Sends him searching for a challenge, one he recalls coming from piercing blue eyes that stared him down, from a record beat, a crown stolen.

Steve’s going to take his throne back and stare Billy Hargrove down as he does it.

He finds Hargrove in the backyard smoking a cigarette. He’s off the side of everything, away from the bodies circling the keg, isolated but not enough for the others to notice. Must have lost Tommy to the allure of a drunk and horny Carol, lost his cronies to the promise of getting their dicks wet from loosened exhibitions.

When he walks up to Hargrove, the alcohol thrumming through his veins gives him enough bravo to pluck the cigarette from between Billy’s lax fingers, to bring the half-burnt stick to his lips and take a drag. He watches as a flash of anger lights up Hargrove’s eyes at the action, a snarl of “ _Hey_ —” that gets cut off when he realizes who exactly it is that had the balls to steal from royalty.

Billy blinks, blinks again, takes in the sight of Steve standing in front to him. Lets his eyes trail Steve up from head to toe and back again. His gaze, the unreadable look in his eyes, does something to heat Steve up inside, make Steve warmer than the tequila has.

“Harrington,” Billy greets, eyes stuck on where Steve’s lips pucker around the cig for another inhale, barely long enough for a proper dose before Billy quickly snags the smoke back, brings the damp end to his own mouth.

“Hargrove,” Steve says back, and he’s drunk enough from the tequila, from the spiked punch he drank before Nancy upturned his life, to have a small voice in the back of his head admit he likes the thought of Hargrove’s mouth touching where his was, of his lips where Billy’s once were.

Steve shakes himself out of it. Thinks vehemently, _Jesus. You just get your heart broken by a girl you loved, changed and lost everything for, and you're already thinking about somebody else._

But, really. If Steve thinks about it, thinks back on it, he knows he ignored the secret looks going on between Nancy and Jonathan, no matter how strongly they denied anything happening on that night last year. Ignored the longing he saw in Jonathan’s eyes whenever Nancy was tucked under Steve’s arm. Ignored how, if Nancy wasn’t with Steve at dinners at the Holland’s house, wasn’t helping Steve study, wasn’t dragged into dates, or babysitting her younger siblings, she was with Jonathan, always with Jonathan.

Steve doesn’t think anything happened between the two of them during the course of his and Nancy’s relationship, but how’s he to know if they don’t get together a week from now, or tomorrow, or, _hell_ , even tonight? Steve’s almost positive he caught sight of, through the blur of his tears, Jonathan heading toward the bathroom he left Nancy in.

For all Steve knows, Jonathan could have taken Nancy home and they could be fucking right now, while Steve berates himself for even thinking about wanting someone else so soon.

With that in mind, some of the guilt eases from Steve’s conscience. Even if Jonathan and Nancy don’t do anything, Jonathan's just helping Nancy get home safe and sound, Steve can find someone, be it Billy Hargrove or someone else willing to, to help get his mind of a fraudulent relationship that took over his life.

But, from all the heavy stares and showmanship, Steve doesn’t think he’ll have to find someone else.

He steps closer toward Billy, lets his fingers play with the lapel of Billy’s leather jacket as he says, “So. You beat my keg stand record, huh?”

Smoke billows in a dense cloud out of Billy’s mouth. “I did.” He shrugs, lets his lips twist meanly, head tilted all cocksure. “Wasn’t hard to. You hillbillies don’t know how to do shit.”

Steve hums as he lets his palm press flat, touches Billy’s chest over his pendant, is able to feel Billy twitch — toward or away, he can’t tell — from the unexpected skin contact.

“We don’t, do we?” he murmurs, almost wonders if his voice is lost to the noise around them, the words said too soft for Billy to hear.

Maybe they were. Maybe that’s why Billy presses closer, into the pressure of Steve’s hand as he lowly says back, “You do. You going to do anything about it?”

With a pat to Billy’s chest, Steve steps away. Turns around and starts walking away. Gets about five steps before he stops, looks over his shoulder. Challenges, “You coming or what, Hargrove?”

Gets Billy moving, dropping the cigarette and following after Steve as he works his way through the crowd. Gets Billy asking, “Where am I being lead to, Harrington?”

Steve stops at his destination. Places his hands on his hips and tilts his head toward the keg and tells Billy, “Need someone to hold my legs so I can show you this hillbilly’s king around here.”

Billy’s eyes are so hot on his skin Steve can barely feel the chill that dances around him, that sneaks its way under his clothes. Steve lets himself shiver under it, under Billy’s silence that goes on for so long Steve thinks Billy’s not going to say anything at all, is just going to turn around and walk way, to back down from Steve’s challenge.

Steve hasn’t known Billy for long — the guy’s only pulled into the high school for the first time, what, a day or two ago? — but he feels like he knows enough to recognize someone who won’t back down, especially not from something like this, with a congregation of sheep around them that are starting to notice, to cotton on to the fact that something’s brewing around them.

And Steve would be right, because Billy throws his head back in a laugh, loud and crackling. Brings his head back down to smirk at Steve, tongue waggling out between his teeth.

“I’ll try not to drop you, King Steve.”

Steve smirks back. “I’m sure you can handle me.” Catches, even in the low light, how Billy’s eyes darken at the words.

Yeah. Steve’s found someone.

He feels Billy walk up behind him as he bends down to place his hands on the keg, can’t help but imagine another scenario of having Billy’s heat pressed up along his back, is almost panting at the possibility of that happening sometime later that night.

The party around them is getting rowdy, livened at the prospect of another go at a record-breaking, of seeing a crown stolen back or a usurped sovereign admitting defeat. They cheer as Billy lifts Steve up, as someone grabs Steve’s other leg to assist.

Steve places the nozzle in his mouth, focuses on what he’s about to do.

Tries not to let the caress of Billy’s hand on his calf distract him.

Billy outlasts Steve’s record of forty seconds by two. Steve beats Billy by one.

Comes down from his lift with a crown back on his head, and Billy arm thrown over his shoulder as his subjects hoot and holler around him.

Steve’s breaths are heavy as a smile lights up his face, taking in the crowd chanting his name. His lungs hitch when Billy leans close and whispers in his ear, just for him, “That’s how you do it, King Steve.” An echo of his victory cry from earlier.

He lets Billy lead him inside, arm around his shoulder the entire time. Lets Billy bring him to a stop in the middle of it all, tissue-streamers hanging around them; teammates from the basketball team slapping his shoulder in congratulations, in a _welcome back_ ; girls batting their heavily made up eyelashes at him, puckering their lips in incentive, a tease.

Lets himself jolt out of the attention for a moment when a light weight settles on his head. Steve brings his hands up to feel what has to be a plastic crown on his head, looks to see Billy sneering at the football player he must have stolen it from. Keeps his eyes locked on Billy as Billy turns back toward him, eyes on him, only on him.

He shifts the crown til it’s tilted jauntily on his head and asks, “What’s this for?”

“A king’s got to look his part,” Billy informs him, voice warm, lips curling at the edges. “You beat me fair and square, your majesty.”

Steve chuckles. “Not such a hillbilly now, huh?”

“No,” Billy rumbles, steps in closer, eats up the space between them, as much as is acceptable in a room full of their peers. “You never were one.” He brings a hand up, fixes the crown from where it was sliding a slow descent off from its perch on Steve’s head. Drags his knuckles down the side of Steve’s face before tucking a loose stand of hair back behind Steve’s ear.

Steve doesn’t bother answering, just grabs Billy’s wrist quickly and marches them to the same bathroom from earlier, crown falling from his head in his haste. Is hoping to make new, more pleasurable memories to overwrite those nastier ones, though Steve doubts he’ll be able to distinguish Tina Cameron’s bathroom from the numerous other bathrooms he’s been in during parties.

Pulling Billy in front of him, Steve closes the door and clicks the lock behind him. Presses Billy into the counter and breathes into his lips, “Tell me I’m not imagining things.”

Billy pants hotly between them, settles his gloved-covered hands onto Steve’s hips, squeezes. “You’re not,” he reassures, and Steve doesn’t wait any longer before pressing forward, catching Billy’s lips in an opened mouthed kiss that tastes like a mix of punch and beer, a tiny hint of nicotine underneath.

Billy pulls back after a moment, and Steve panics, a wave of anxiety cresting to break on him.

Billy clears the back of his throat. “What about, ahh, what’s her face? The tiny bitch on your arm earlier? Your girlfriend.”

Steve can’t stop the tiny flinch at that, from either the reminder of Nancy just when he was starting to forget, or at the compulsion to defend her against the use of that word.

Steve slides his hands down onto Billy’s shoulders, doesn’t remember tangling them into Billy’s hair. Can’t look Billy in the eye as he answers. “Not my girlfriend anymore.” Keeps his gaze away as Billy processes that.

Billy’s hands squeeze at his hips again, urging Steve to look up.

“She break your heart, pretty boy?” Billy asks, no infliction in his tone.

Steve hesitates before nodding his head once.

Arms sliding around Steve’s back, Billy drags Steve closer to his body. Steve instantly sags into him, into his heat, into the relief at the lack of rejection. Shuffles one his legs to prop one in between Billy’s thighs and press _up_.

“You need help to get your mind of it.” Billy states it more than asks, moves his own leg to give something solid for Steve to lean onto. Steve nods his head again, flicks his eyes down to Billy’s lips to convey what he wants, needs.

“Oh, pretty boy,” Billy purrs, Steve shivering at the promise he can hear curling in that moniker. “I’ll do anything to aide my king.”

Steve’s gasp gets eaten up by Billy’s lips, by Billy’s hot tongue licking into his mouth. Steve lets himself follow Billy’s lead, fall into Billy’s fast pace as they mouth at each other. Steve ruts down, feels his cock start to stiffen further, was already at half mast the second Billy gave him something to press into. Feels the answering ridge of Billy’s cock rocking into his hips.

He moans when Billy drags away from his mouth, left bereft, before Billy latches onto a spot under his jaw. Moans enthusiastically when Billy starts sucking a bruise there.

One of Steve’s hands fists itself in the stiff curls at the back of Billy’s neck, burrows to find the soft hair that hides at the scalp. Scritches with blunt nails and hears Billy grunt, gets the response of teeth pressing into his skin and a palm sliding down to cup his ass over his jeans.

Billy’s hand burns a brand into his skin, even over clothes, as he guides Steve in a rocking motion, sets a short and sharp rhythm going between them, all they can get away with, how tightly they’re pressed together.

Releasing Billy’s hair, Steve makes enough space between their hips to wedge his hands there, tries to blindly unfasten Billy’s belt as Billy brings his mouth back up to Steve’s.

Steve can feel his pulse in the hickey Billy undoubtedly gave him, is almost distracted from his goal by it. Is clued back in when Billy’s hands join his, as they get Billy’s belt out of the way together and dropped to the floor, button undone and zipper down before he starts working at Steve. Steve’s belt makes a resounding clatter when it falls to the tile, his pants just as quickly opened and pushed down to his thighs along with his briefs.

His cock springs out pink and leaking, Steve always gets so wet whenever he’s turned on. Billy doesn’t hesitate to get a hand around him, squeeze at his head before using his slick to drag a fist down to the base.

“Damn,” Billy whispers, moans when he gives another squeeze when his fist reaches the tip again, feels the kick Steve’s cock gives and the spurt of precome that beads up. “You really are _King Steve_ , aren’t you?” He grins, tongue caught in his teeth again, looking almost proud of himself.

Steve groans at that, groans again when Billy’s thumb start playing with the bundle of nerves under his head. His precome is all over Billy’s fingerless gloves, ruining them.

“Jesus,” Steve pants out, “Do you ever shut up?” Nudges Billy’s pants down enough to get his dick free, no underwear underneath, _of course_. Smugly thinks he’s found a way to quiet Billy when he gets Billy in his hand.

Steve’s trying not to dwell on the fact that this is the first dick he’s held in his hand, other than his own. Billy’s uncircumcised where Steve is, thicker where Steve is long; Steve’s fingers aren’t even coming close to touching where they circle around the girth of him.

They’re both staring down at where they’ve got their hands around each other. Steve drags his hand up slowly, palm rasping quietly in a grip too dry. He releases his hold to spit in his hand. Looks up when Billy lets out a punched-out grunt at the action, smiles and does it again.

When he brings his hand back, the glide is noticeably smoother, he’s able to drag his hand up and down, grip changing intermittently to garner different responses, before he stops at the tip and plays with Billy’s head. He rubs his thumbs around the slit, catches the precome that gathers there, goes down to play with his foreskin, to move it up and down and watches Billy’s head play peek-a-boo with him.

Billy’s hand has been motionless this entire time, too entranced by and riding the pleasure of Steve playing with him. Snaps out of when Steve’s fist starts moving faster, unwittingly fucking his hips up to meet Steve’s hand. Billy matches Steve’s pace, made easy by how steadily Steve’s been leaking this entire time, even with the lack of attention. Their knuckles keep grazing and bumping into each other every time Steve strokes down and Billy strokes up.

The air is hot and muggy around them, no reprieve from the heat of the party raging beyond the bathroom doors. The mirror is foggy behind Billy’s body, too hazy to discern noticeable features except the contrast of Billy’s dirty blond hair against his dark leather jacket, a flash of tan skin in a murky blurb where his ass peeks out over the counter.

They’re not even bothering to kiss each other anymore, too enraptured in watching what’s going on between them. Their fists never stop moving, Steve never stops pumping up and down, up and down, not even when Billy's other hand moves back to his ass, this time with no barriers, fingers digging into a fleshy cheek.

Steve can barely hear the pop music over how loud their breaths are, broken by a cadence of drawn out moans and Billy murmuring _you’re doing so well, Stevie, love your hands, love your cock, my dick looks so big in your fingers, wanna taste you, want you down my throat._

“Billy, fuck,” Steve moans out, strokes growing quicker with how desperate he’s getting, can feel himself getting closer and closer the more Billy utters complete filth, “the mouth on you.”

“Yeah, baby?” Billy goads, licks his lips, licks at Steve’s where his mouth is hanging open. “You like my mouth? Want it on you?”

Steve grunts, uses the balls of his feet to fuck into Billy’s hand. “I do, _I do_ , I want to fuck your throat so bad.”

Billy huffs out a noise, a gasp and a laugh rolled into one. He spits down between them, gets himself more wet, so gross, Steve can’t get enough of it, loves the twitches he feels Billy’s cock giving, wants Billy to come _now now now._

And Billy does, spilling over Steve’s hand, gets globs of come on Steve’s jeans, his black shirt, how is he going to hide that stain, let alone explain it?

Billy groans loud and long at his release, eyes scrunching shut as his head tips back. His hand stalls where he’s fisting at Steve’s head, though his grip keeps going lax and tight, keeps Steve stimulated teasingly.

When he’s done, starts coming down from the high of orgasming, he brings his head forward, noses at Steve’s neck. Sees where Steve’s still an angry, leaking mess between them.

“Hmm,” Billy hums, and Steve wonders what he’s thinking, what he’s going to do, before Billy shoves Steve back to the wall behind him, gets enough room to drop to his knees, and Steve stops wondering altogether.

Billy looks up at him, one hand braced and clenching at Steve’s thigh, the other, the one dripping in Steve’s come, is brought to Billy’s mouth, tongue sticking out as he smears Steve’s release over his pink palate. Steve’s cock kicks at the debauched sight in front of him, sways in the air between them, before Billy grabs it and brings Steve’s cock to his lips.

Speaking into the head, Billy says, “You like my mouth, right?” Tongues at the slit when Steve hisses out a “ _yes_ ” through clenched teeth. “You want my mouth on you?” Suckles it into his mouth at Steve’s confirmation again, lets it pop out before Steve can shove himself in. “You want to fuck my throat so bad?” And Steve begs out a depraved, “ _yes_ , _please, Billy_ ”, almost sobs in relief when Billy finally, _finally_ swallows him down until Steve hits the back of his throat, rolls Steve balls in his hand, skin dragging on his gloves.

Billy doesn’t even _gag_ and Steve’s gone, barely lasts three thrusts in before he burrows himself to the root, comes down Billy’s throat, Billy’s nose pressed to the dark curls there with Steve’s hands pulling at his hair.

Billy licks him through it, tongue sweeping side to side as Steve finishes. Drags his mouth back slowly, so slowly, ’til only the tip is still in. Licks at it, swallows down the last, tiny bead of come that comes out, Steve panting all the while.

When Billy finally lets Steve pop out of his mouth, Steve sags into the wall, strings cut, doesn’t even care about the towel rack digging uncomfortably into his back. He watches as Billy clambers to his feet, tucks Steve back into his briefs before doing up his jeans, then cups a hand around himself to zip up his own pants, belts still on the floor.

They stand there, facing each other, sweat beading on their skin. Billy stares, and Steve stares back, just like before, back when Steve still had Nancy by his side, when Billy had his lackeys groveling at his feet.

Billy takes a slow, tiny step forward, the first time Steve’s seen him hesitate since Steve’s known him. Steve doesn’t let that hesitation fester into anything bad before he bridges the distance, drags Billy into another wet kiss, licks into Billy’s mouth to chase the taste of himself on Billy’s tongue.

They separate when their kisses grow languid, but with no less heat between them, now just simmering under the surface, just waiting until the next time it can boil over.

“Did that help?” Billy asks, and Steve hears the unsaid, _did_ I _help?_

“It did,” Steve replies. _You did._ “Thanks.”

Billy huffs out a small chuckle. Steve can almost call it a giggle. Picture that: Billy Hargrove. _Giggling_. Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of him, now that he’s gotten a taste.

“Always down to help a pretty boy out in a time of need.” Billy winks.

Steves shoves lightly at his shoulder, gets a shove in return and stumbles on his feet.

Billy catches him before he can bump into anything and hurt himself. Admonishes with a tease of a grin, “You need to learn to plant your feet.”

“You gonna teach me?” Steve throws back, smile on his face. A smile that Billy readily matches.

“Yeah, pretty boy,” Billy says, steps closer again to catch one more kiss between them. “I just might.”

*

The next day, Steve walks into school without Nancy on his arm, rumors about that breakup flowing through whispered gossip from one mouth to another, but a hickey on his throat, too high to be hidden, right where two moles paint his skin.

He strides over to where Billy’s at his locker, digging through his bag for something that must be buried at the bottom. Leans back at the metal next to him with his arms crossed over his chest, says, “Hey,” when Billy looks up at him.

“Hi,” Billy greets back, eyes jumping from Steve’s eyes to the mark he left on Steve’s body. Steve feels a flush creep on his face at the pleased cat-got-the-cream look Billy’s giving him.

“You doing anything tonight?” Steve questions, doesn’t bother trying to beat around other pleasantries. Knows what he wants and who he wants it from.

Billy finally grabs whatever he was looking for — a magnet, of what looks like of the _Mad Max_ logo — before sticking it on the inside of his locker door and slamming it closed. He shrugs his bag on as he faces Steve, rests on his shoulder and crosses an ankle behind the other.

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’. “I’m free as one can be in the middle of nowhere.” He leans his head forward, smirk on his face. “Does the king have anything planned for the two of us?”

Pushing off and away, Steve walks backwards, locks his eyes onto Billy’s. No one bumps into him, the crowd shifting, sensing a king returned to their midst, commanding respect.

Says for everyone to hear his decree, but only for Billy’s ears, “Meet me at the quarry at eight to find out.”

Grins at the heat brewing in Billy’s eyes before turning his back, gets to homeroom just as the bell rings its warning signal.

Steve might just need more help being thoroughly distracted again. And he knows someone all too willing to bow before to a king.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!
> 
> i also draw these boys, which i post on both [twitter](https://twitter.com/hargrovebuckley) and [tumblr](https://hargrovebuckley.tumblr.com/) :)


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